


What Are You Willing To Do

by am_bellanoire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bitter Banter, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, F/F, Heartbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/am_bellanoire/pseuds/am_bellanoire
Summary: “What are you doing here, Hermione.”Her knees almost give out, hearing the sound of her name uttered from that sinful mouth.Merlinhad it only been half a year. It feels like a lifetime. But she finds her voice at last, clearing her throat and feeling loathe to admit having to look away from those bottomless eyes lest she drown in them.“I – I don't know.”But she does know, she does. And she only hopes Bellatrix knows too.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 11
Kudos: 195





	What Are You Willing To Do

_Fuck your pride. Do what you came to do, keep me up all night...hurting vibes and it hurts inside when I look you in your eyes. What are you willing to do. Tell me what you're willing to do....” -_ Rihanna

* * *

Hermione's heart pounds as she Apparates in the middle of the foyer. Part of it is because of the painful familiarity of the manse, the home she no longer resides in. The other part is because she's sure the wards would have ripped her to shreds. But she took a chance and now here she is. In one piece on the outside, in a thousand on the inside. 

She takes a tentative step forward, and then another, passed the sitting and dining room, toward the ebony double doors of the library. The glow of a lit fireplace from within casts shadows in the long hallway, the crackling and snapping of the flames dancing on the wood loud enough to almost echo. 

She moves as silently as she can, though she can still feel her heart beating hard against her rib cage, feel the steady thrum of her pulse against her eardrums, has to bite her lip to stifle the sound of her breathing. It gets harder to take in air though, not when she is now close enough to see the mass of sable curls spilling over the back of the large armchair that sits beside its empty counterpart in the center of the cavernous reading room. Memories of the past flood her then, remembering late nights sitting side by side before the fire, nursing drinks, laughing, arguing, discussing words from the countless novels and spell books, tomes and scrolls that fill the six floor to ceiling length shelves. 

She wants to lose herself in it, the past, and for a moment she does. Honey eyes slipping shut, body swaying a bit as she remembers. Longs. Wishes she had the time turner she'd used when she'd been a child to bring her back to...what used to be. Even if only for a moment. 

“I knew it would only be a matter of time before you begged to have me back, pet.”

Hermione had almost forgotten how _cold_ Bellatrix's voice could be when she was hurt. Her anger, it's always hot enough to burn and blister, to melt the skin from bones. But her pain. Her pain is this hollow, icy thing. Sharp as a blade and freezing. It _cuts_. Draws blood. Agony in exchange for agony. 

All the air leaves Hermione's lungs in a rush and she suddenly feels lightheaded. Just hearing her voice, after all these months? She should have known no amount of bravado could have prepared her for this moment. And she hasn't even laid eyes on her yet. 

“Couldn't stay away long, could you?”

Despite the chill in her blood and her body's inability to _function_ , the brunette draws closer. She's come this far, what is another step? And another? It's too late to leave now anyway. Not that she wants to go or feels that she even _can_.

“I'm surprised how willful you can be. Muggle blood or not, you're the same as every other witch or wizard when it comes to lust, aren't you.”

She hears the sound of a book being snapped shut then, and before she can brave another step forward, Bellatrix abruptly stands from the armchair and whirls around to face her former lover in a fluid, graceful manner. And the hiss that escapes the younger witch's lips sounds so pained because Bellatrix is now and has always been so _achingly_ beautiful. But this beauty hurts more than her former beauty because _this_ is reforged beauty. Waist length black curls that shine like fresh ink against pale skin, streaked with strands of silver. Heavy lidded obsidian eyes that pierce rather than see, lines in that perfect face that soften rather than age, evidence of genuine smiles and laughter that had managed to erase decades of stress. Womanly curves that have gotten more pronounced over the years due to lack of combat, both held into place and enhanced by the signature corset despite the late hour. 

It is suddenly too much. _She_ is too much. 

Bellatrix's head tilts slightly as she pins the other woman under that unwavering dark gaze, up and down, her body twitching forward so slightly it does not even look as if she''s moved at all, before she straightens her spine and arches a brow, full red lips forming a bitter sneer. 

“What are you doing here, Hermione.”

Her knees almost give out, hearing the sound of her name uttered from that sinful mouth. _Merlin_ had it only been half a year. It feels like a lifetime. But she finds her voice at last, clearing her throat and feeling loathe to admit having to look away from those bottomless eyes lest she drown in them. 

“I – I don't know.”

But she does know, she does. And she only hopes Bellatrix knows too. 

Hermiione chances a peek at Bellatrix then, watching those lips purse in distaste, hands clench as if she longs to reach for a wand to curse her into an oblivion, and then her body relax as if she had reached some grand solution. 

“Then maybe you should leave.”

Oh, but Hermione knows Bellatrix better than that. She can _hear_ that coldness shifting against her will to lukewarm. Can see the conflict warring. Ice and fire. She does not want her to go, no, but she will refuse to the death to ask her to stay. 

Hermione knows how to play this game. 

“Maybe I should,” she whispers, the blunt edges of her teeth catching her lower lip as she stares down the one person she had both loved and hated in equal measure just at different times in her life, “I don't want to.”

Yes. She can see the affect she is having on the older witch, can see the longing battling the pride, can damn near taste it. God, it should make her feel wicked but all Hermione can truly feel is grateful. Because this, this must surely mean that she still feels something. And as selfish as it is, she can't help the relief she feels at the thought. 

“Why are you doing this?” Bellatrix growls and heat laces the words, “You made it quite clear where you stood. Unless you've changed your mind?”

“I haven't,” Hermione says softly and _oh_ the anguish that clouds those dark eyes in that moment makes her want to take the words back because truly, _truly_ she doesn't mean them. Not at all. Or she wouldn't be here. But she says nothing even as frost creeps, sharp and jagged into that porcelain face. 

“Then there's nothing else need be said between the two of us.”

This time, ice cannot mask defeat. Bellatrix looks so tired. But, Hermione wonders, why isn't she fighting? Her very name means warrior, she would have bled herself dry decades ago for a certain Dark Lord had he asked it of her, and yet now, now she concedes defeat? It sends a lance of anger straight through her chest. Anger is good, because hers is hot as well, it means she doesn't have to harbor on guilt and regret and all the sodding memories. 

“You can't mean that,” Hermione tries to reel it in, her anger, but she isn't sure when her emotions became so _dominant_. Well no, she's sure it happened when she fell in love with the volatile mass of black satin and sable curls. 

And Bellatrix knows her just as well, evident as a decidedly malicious smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“Can't I?”

Hermione feeds into it, the way she always has. One of the reasons she had tried to leave, at the same time the reason she has returned. But _Merlin_ it was only supposed to be this one night. She had thought herself stronger than this. Six months, six months should have been enough time to taper off this pull, this _force_ , but she's rapidly learning that it wasn't. And now, now she's glad she's angry because she doesn't want to feel anything else. 

“No. I won't allow it,” she spits in as scathing a tone she can muster, despite the heat of the flames steadily crackling in the fireplace, despite the even hotter flames dancing in the dark witch's eyes.

Bellatrix tosses her mane of curls over one shoulder and eyes the younger witch with cleverly concealed glee before turning her attention to her ruby painted nails, “I've done many unsavory things in my life, pet,” she keeps her tone a dry drawl, sharply making eye contact once more, “but barring _Voldemort_ I've never let someone dictate what they will and won't allow when it pertains to me.”

Hermione flinches at the cavalier way Bellatrix mentions _his_ name but only because of the fact that she was the one who built that confidence for the former Death Eater to say it without tripping over it or trying to hurt herself.

The beginning of their _entanglement_ had been so hard and yet...yet they had found love. A love that is still there if only Hermione can dig deep enough, she knows. So many wrongs, so many tears, so many _feelings_ that had made knots around each other like Devil's Snare, suffocating them both. It had seemed impossible then to try and fix it. But now she can't imagine how neither one of them had not tried. It is their nature, to fix things. Bellatrix had spent more than half her life trying to fix things for her family and Hermione had spent hers trying to fix things for Harry and Ron. They are _fixers_ , so why can't this be fixed too?

Bellatrix is growing wary now, not quite able to keep up the facade she's been using like Protego to keep her emotions in check. But she draws deep within herself, to that old Pureblood part of herself to make her words as _unyielding_ as her wand.

“Leave me.”

But Hermione can see straight through that as well. One can't hurt if they _allow_ the other to leave. One has a sense of control if they're the ones to cast the other aside. She would know, as she had done it six months ago. And she knows how much Bella needs control, needs to feel she has a say. As Hermione had been the one to give that back to her after being so long controlled by others. 

“Why are you making this so difficult?” Her tongue feels thick in her mouth at the idiotic question. Idiotic because she knows exactly why Bellatrix is making it difficult. Had the scene been reversed, she would have made it difficult too. But she had been the one to leave. Not the other way around. She clings to her anger like a lifeline now because she can feel it start to slip away like sand through a sieve. 

And Bellatrix clearly can sense that. She has always been so...observant. 

“Because,” the dark witch responds in a purposely detached tone, “You're playing a stupid game, with even stupider results. And I'm not stupid. Never been,” heat flares in her vocal cords and her brows furrow, the coolness evaporating to steam, “You're _horny_. I can practically smell you from here. As delicious as it is, what would make you think I'd feed into this stupidity?”

And once again, Hermione is stuck because Bellatrix, Bellatrix in that uncanny ability of hers, without using Legilimency has managed to crack one half of this disastrous puzzle. _Yes_ , she is horny. But there's more to it than that and the fact that there is _more_ calms her. 

Bellatrix hasn't caught on just yet, so consumed by pain and anger and so many feelings that this might really just be a sex thing after all this time. She sneers and strides toward Hermione, not near enough to touch but near enough that Hermione can smell her _too_. And Merlin, how she missed the dark and spicy scent that had always clung to Bellatrix like smoke. 

“For a Gryffindor, you're one hell of a coward,” and that lukewarm quality is back in Bellatrix's voice now, that fight. Hermione only hopes it's because she's just as affected by her nearness as she is, “'What happened to bravery? What happened to weathering the storm?”

“There was a lot of rain,” Hermione whispers and she hates the fact that her eyes well with tears, hates the fact that she left in the first place, hates the fact that she came back because it meant she had been _wrong_ in the first place. 

“Let me guess, thunder and lightning too?” Bellatrix's voice is just as soft but without the choke of tears. The words sound the way a caress should feel and yet, she doesn't step closer, doesn't reach out. 

“Yes.” 

“Then you really _should've_ been a Ravenclaw,” and that coldness is back again because that one syllable Hermione uttered hurt her like a well aimed curse, “All books and smarts and nothing else.”

“You're only saying that because you're angry.”

But she is both angry and hurt, and those two emotions are a deadly combination. So Hermione has no choice but to brace herself for whatever it is Bellatrix is about to unleash. Whatever cyclonic thing the witch will say because she knows the intention is to tear her apart, retribution for doing the same. 

Bellatrix invades her personal space, hand darting out to grip her by the throat in a movement too fast that a blink might have missed it. “Oh, this isn't angry,” she snarls and then pitches her voice in that hideous childlike tone she uses to intimidate, “Angry would have you pinned on the floor with me watching your body writhe beneath my wand and pain flash in those pretty eyes of yours, my love. But then, you've been there before haven't you? And you still dropped your knickers and begged for me. Kind of like how you're doing right now.”

Only problem is, Hermione no longer fears her. Hasn't for years. And that's where Bellatrix miscalculated. The fact that she would even _try_ to go that route, to dredge up old wounds both literally and figuratively, refuels her ire and she wrenches herself away from her former lover with a hiss of disgust.

"You're hateful.”

“I can say the same thing about you, pet.”

It isn't supposed to be like this. It _can't_ be like this. Hermione can feel the fledgling anger cave under the weight of panic. She thought she knew how to play this game, had taken the time to get herself together but Bellatrix is proving her wrong with each word that leaves those darkly delicious lips of hers. 

“So tell me what's happened?” Bellatrix croons, stepping closer and yet still too far, “One night stand left you unsatisfied? Or that girl I saw you with in Diagon last month, she doesn't know that you like three fingers instead of two and you damn near lose your mind when my tongue - “

“You've been following me, have you?” Hermione squawks out at a rather undignified volume true, but she needs it to distract her from the very vivid imagery Bellatrix maliciously paints. There's a different sort of heat flushing her cheeks now and her inner thighs are _throbbing_ from the combination of emotions, proximity and back and forth. 

A downward spiral that she welcomes because her heart wants it, wants it all back. 

“I can't help if you happen to be in the same exact place as me,” the dark witch scoffs, but there is smugness in her now as she realizes what Hermone tries in vain to hide, “Though I have to admit. I'd no idea you had a thing for blondes. I would've hooked you up with Cissy and saved us both the heartache had you not gotten so foolishly offended that one dinner.” 

“She made a point of discussing what she'd do with the mounted heads of dead House Elves! Living creatures who don't deserve to - “

“And Muggles kill each other over silly things like skin color, money, and who they date regardless of the fact that they're all Muggle in the end. Stop splitting hairs and do what it is you came to do.”

Hermione can practically _feel_ her pupils dilate when Bellatrix's hands move to behind her back to deftly untie her stays. The abrupt change in topic, in _situation_ is dizzying. But it has always been. To go from rejection to arguing to acceptance in such a short span, that's what they have always been. That is their way and that familiarity, it wrenches a breathy sound from Hermione's lips. She is going to get what she came for, but she knows Bellatrix is going to make her work for it in some way. Nothing aboiut them has ever been _easy_. And maybe it took her too long a time to realize that nothing in her life would ever be easy. 

“We both know what you came here for, don't we?” Bellatrix purrs as her corset falls to the floor. The skirts follow next and sooner than Hermione thinks her brain, heart, and body can process the decadently desirous sight, she's nude, “Let's not waste any more time with the banter. I'm too wet for it as is.”

Oh. Hermione knows this side of Bellatrix too. The part of her that came about when pain and anger couldn't be killed or tortured away. The part of her that _sacrificed_. And that is the part that Hermione hates most of all because Bellatrix should not sacrifice any part of herself for anyone. She is not _him_ , she is not her sisters, and Hermione doesn't want to put her lover back in that headspace. Not for her, no matter how selfish her intentions may have been in coming here in the first place. 

“She wasnt _you_ , you wicked thing,” Hermione rasps, not even fighting the tears that flood her cheeks now, “She wasn't you. No one can be you. No one can mean what you mean to me. I just, I just want you. I realize that. You're the only one I want, Bella." 

__And she means those words, more than she has ever meant anything in her life. And Bella, Bella knows she does because suddenly she can feel the warmth of the fire on her bare skin, suddenly stripped bare with just the wave of a pale hand. And then full lips descend onto hers, attack more like and she moans desperately because it's been _too_ long since she's felt this, tasted this, known this. The kiss is fervent, passionate, heated, wild, everything that Bella is. It is magnetic. And how fitting for they arre both the truest defintion of opposites attracting even if they are both so similar. _ _

Hermione hisses as the kisses trail from her lips to her jaw, to the column of her throat, spider-like fingers grabbing and clutching her waist, pulling her closer, their naked skin inflamed, striking like a match as they meet. Her hands find purchase in that thick curly mane and she relishes the groan of pleasure Bella utters as she _tugs_ , nails scratching at her scalp. 

__Merlin how could she have ever thought she didn't want this, didn't need this. How could she think she could ever go a lifetime without knowing this. Bellatrix had seared her everlasting touch into her flesh a decade ago, had cursed and blessed her in one fell swoop._ _

__“I missed you,” Hermione gasps, the sound mingled with pleasure and pain as Bellatrix sucks hard on her neck, the skin stinging as blood vessels break one by one beneath it, “I missed you.”_ _

__“You left me,” Bella murmurs against her bruised flesh, purposely keeping her tone muffled, allowing her fingers to trail to the apex of Hermione's thighs in an effort ot distract her from the _rawness_ in her tone, the tears she tries to conceal. She means the words to be accusatory but they can't be. _ _

__“Let me come back.”_ _

__Because Hermione, ever the quick study, learned long ago how to turn perceived weakness into strength. Even as her lashes flutter as Bella deftly spreads her open with index and ring finger, using the middle to rub tight circles against her clit, Hermione surrenders her own strength to give it to the witch she loves. Let it be Bella's choice even though she knows she doesn't truly have one. _This_ is evidence enough, more so than the salty wetness the brunette feels falling onto her shoulder. _ _

__“Don't leave me again,” Bellatrix whispers, her teeth oddly gentle as they nip Hermione's earlobe as she lifts a peaches a cream thigh, draping it around her waist, “I can't be the me I am now without you.”_ _

__And Hermione can not hold back the cry that bursts unbridled from her soul as Bellatrix plunges into her core. Three fingers to the knuckle, the angle making it deep, the six months of nothingness making it burn. She can't hold back the tears either. She has never felt fuller, in more ways than one and all that feeling needs somewhere to go. Because she understands now, she can't go anywhere. This is where she needs to be. Ever always._ _

__“I won't. I promise. Never.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Celebrating 5000 kudos all week. I still can't believe it, honestly. I owe so much to the Bellamione community, truly. For as 'twisted' as so many people think our OTP is, this is has been the most welcoming ,supportive, and source of so many incredibly unique and beautifully written pieces I've ever been part of. And I love all you. Thank you for the love, the support, the kudos, the comments, the patience and understanding. Thank you for giving me something to find motivation in when it comes to writing when I was diagnosed with my autoimmune disease. Thank you for accepting and appreciating the unique spin I put on our favorite characters. 
> 
> Ugh, I could go on. Just, thank you all. Really.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this piece, feedback would be greatly appreciated.


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